


Step by Step

by teatearsandbbc



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: 5+1 Things, Acceptance, Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bargaining, Crying, Denial, Depression, Eventual Fluff, Five Stages of Grief, M/M, spoilers: Episode 49
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-12-12 10:03:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11734779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teatearsandbbc/pseuds/teatearsandbbc
Summary: When Carlos gets trapped in a desert otherworld, Cecil grieves for him, sometimes more than either of them realize.A series of flash fics set between Episode 49 and Episode 70. Largely canon-based and moving through the five stages of grief as Cecil experiences them.





	1. Denial

Cecil hummed nervously to himself, his heel tapping against the floor as he listened to the hold music ring tinnily out of his phone. He knew Gino’s might very well be booked out for the weekend, but he had to try. It was his and Carlos’ one-year anniversary. Cecil had been making plans for weeks. He and Carlos would go to Gino’s, just as they had that first miraculous night Carlos had kissed him. Then they would take a walk, the desert air cool around them. And then they would go home, eat a special dessert Cecil would make, and make love until they fell asleep. It was a Friday evening, so neither of them would have to wake up early the next morning. They could lay in bed, maybe make pancakes, cuddle on the couch and drink coffee, and Carlos could tell him finally what the documentary they had watched on scatterplot matrices had meant.

Carlos had said it would be a week, tops, before he could find his way home, and Cecil believed him. He knew how brilliant Carlos was, knew he would find a way back to him within days. Each evening, Cecil would pull into his driveway with his heart pounding against his ribs, sure more than ever that when he opened the door, Carlos would be waiting there for him, his eyes crinkling in a smile. Each day, he swallowed back the wave of agony that swept up to his very teeth, saying it would be the next day. Carlos would be home the next day. He just had to be patient.

But Friday would make a week, and Carlos had said a week, tops. And it was their anniversary, and Cecil had ordered a bouquet of the most scientifically interesting flowers he could find in the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex’s florist shop. (It was called Desert  _ Flower _ , after all.) He had special ordered the bouquet weeks ago, and Teddy had spent all of league night that week complaining to Cecil about the flower that sang eerie songs that tended to make one hallucinate if listened to too long. He assured Teddy he would pick it up Friday afternoon and advised him to get ear plugs.

The hold music clicked off and a sound like bricks being dropped onto a hot oven door told Cecil the maître’d was on the line. He made the reservation for 7:00 on Friday and carefully wrote the time in pen on the community calendar he kept on his desk. As he hung up the phone, his fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on the wooden surface.

Carlos would be there. They would go to dinner and listen to the singing flower and they would have their anniversary together. Carlos would be there. He would come home. He would.

Cecil gnawed at his bottom lip as he stared at the little “7:00” on his calendar.


	2. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil's anger boils over during his show. Inspired by the correction's statement in Episode 55

Cecil was having trouble keeping a grip on himself during the show that day. Every moment sitting at his desk, remembering, regretting, when the angels brought him here burned at him. He had been there, in the light house. He had been in the same world as Carlos. And he had left. For what? For a desk and a microphone and stupid sponsored ads. He had sat here, narrating, as the old oak doors slammed shut all over Night Vale, slammed in the face of his beautiful Carlos. This microphone had tied him to this desk while his world had been yanked out of his grasping fingers and yet, here he sat. Returning faithfully to the beast that had robbed him of everything. Complacently continuing to stay where he was told and move forward with his life as prescribed to him.

And all at once, he couldn’t stand it any more. The calm, clear report he was reading about Trish Hidge was suddenly crushed in shaking fists, and Cecil stood up so fast his chair toppled over backwards. It hit him in the back of the knee as it fell, and he rounded on it, grabbing it and hurling it at the wall.

The dam broke at that point. Roaring with pain and rage and helplessness, Cecil snatched up the baseball bat leaning in one corner and smashed it into the first thing he saw, which happened to be his mixer. He beat at the mixer, hitting it again and again, watching wires emerge sparking, lights flashing and, at last, the puff of smoke that told him it was beyond repair. Then he turned on his desk. He beat the legs off the desk, his bat beginning to splinter and his microphone falling to the floor. He demolished the side table his granola bars and coffee pot usually stood on. He hurled the coffee pot at the window looking into the booth. Intern Maureen ducked as the glass shattered and Cecil spun, still screaming as if he could exorcise his pain through volume, and searched for something else to destroy. When he found nothing, he swung his bat into the wall, punching a hole in the sheetrock.

It was only when every bit of wall Cecil could reach was gone, his bat was snapped into pieces, his knuckles were split and bleeding from where he smashed them into the door, twin lumps rising at the outsides of his fists told him he likely had broken bones, and only his microphone was left unharmed that Cecil sank to the floor, sobs racking his body. He curled into himself, his bleeding hands cradled to his chest, and, throwing his head back, let out one final animalistic howl. The thought of the tenderness with which Carlos would have cleaned and bandaged his hands, the horror Cecil knew would fill his face if he knew what Cecil had done, nearly shredded Cecil’s soul.

He let his head drop and his hair fall over his face, tears dripping into his cuts and stinging.

And then small, soft arms were wrapped around his head, and Cecil was pulled into someone’s chest.

“Oh, Cecil,” Dana sighed. “I am so sorry.” She didn’t say anything more as she held Cecil until his tears settled back into numbness. When he at last took a steady, harsh breath, she wrapped his arm around her shoulders and stood, lifting him with a surprising strength. She led him to the bathroom where, under Khoshekh’s watchful gaze, she washed his knuckles and bandaged them with supplies from the station’s first aid kit. She told him Maureen had called her when Cecil broke the window, and she had come straight over.

“Come sleep on my couch tonight,” she told him, and there was no room for argument in her tone. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

Dumbly, Cecil nodded and allowed her to lead him out of the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is honestly one of my favorites and hurts me most. I've been toying with the idea of podficing these. If that's something you'd be interested in, comment and let me know! As always, thank you for reading and if you'd like to get in touch with me, you can email me at teatearsandbbc@gmail.com


	3. Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil tries to find a way to make up for the hole in his life when Carlos is gone. It may just be that painting him will make the grief tolerable.

It was Saturday morning and it was quiet at Cecil’s house. It was dreadfully, hatefully quiet. Cecil pushed down the wave of tears that threatened to come sweeping down his face and forced himself to sit up in bed, to clamber to his feet, to move towards the kitchen and make coffee. He unlocked his phone as he sipped at some coffee and put on his favorite weather station. The music wafting from the little speakers helped alleviate the horrible silence some, and it reminded Cecil of the time he had spent in college, sitting in his dorm on the weekends his roommate went back home, music playing on a second-hand record player and a paintbrush in his hand. The memory gave him an idea, and setting down his coffee mug and tucking his phone into his pocket, Cecil headed for his closet.

He found what he was looking for at the very back of the closet under a pile of NVCC hoodies, and he thanked his lucky stars that the Faceless Old Woman hadn’t found this yet. Cecil ran reminiscent fingers over the faded lid of the watercolor set he had purchased during his sophomore year. He took an art class, just for some extra credits, and had been introduced to the medium then. The way the colors spread, seemingly of their own accord, and the wonderfully vibrant images they produced had captured Cecil, and he took to painting most weekends, losing himself in the timelessness of creativity. 

Although he had fallen out of the habit during and after his trip to Europe, Cecil thought his fingers might still remember how to use the tools in his hands. He dug out the watercolor pad that also hid under the pile of sweaters and took his rediscovered treasure to the dining room table.

Cecil didn’t have to think at all about what he wanted to paint. The second he dipped his brush into the cup of water, the image of a photo Carlos had sent him earlier that week came rising to the surface of his mind. Alicia had taken it, Carlos had told him, and it showed Carlos in profile, looking out across the desert otherworld. The light in Carlos’ eyes, the intensity of his expression as he studied the alien sunset, the way his hair was beginning to get long enough to curl around his jaw had all captivated Cecil, and he knew he wanted to paint that. He pulled the picture up on his phone, which was still tuned to the weather, propped it against the water glass, and set to work.

As he painted, the tight knot of misery that had been wrenching at Cecil for the last several months seemed to loosen a little. His fingers traced the lines of Carlos’ nose, his jaw, his brow. His brush pulled out the color of his eyes and the slight reflection of the sunset on his skin. Painting the strands of Carlos’ hair, Cecil could almost remember the feeling of twining his fingers through it. For just a moment, he felt almost as if he was opening his door to find Carlos there, just the briefest of glimpses that meant more to Cecil than he could ever explain. For a second, he could imagine Carlos was there.

When Cecil’s brush put the final stroke on the collar of Carlos’ lab coat, he dropped his brush into the water, leaned back enough to crack his back, and glanced at the clock. It was nearly five in the evening. Almost a whole day had gone by, and Cecil had survived. 

When he looked back down at his painting, his breath hitched in his throat. The picture of Carlos seemed to have a life, a breath of its own. Unbidden, tears pricked at Cecil’s eyes, but for the first time in months, they weren’t tears of pain or misery or longing. They were tears of joy.  _ There _ was his beautiful Carlos, brought to life with love and tenderness and Cecil’s hands. Something he could hang onto and look at when he ached for more than a picture on a brightly-lit screen. 

He would, he decided, hang it on the wall at work. At the very least, it would keep him from wanting to destroy the studio again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this. There are three more parts after this and then a bonus chapter I'll post at the end. I've also got a podfic version I'll be updating roughly once a week, so keep an eye out for that. As always, if you see something you like, don't like, or would like to talk about, please comment or email me at teatearsandbbc@gmail.com


	4. Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Cecil's painting is destroyed, he goes to a dark place.

When Cecil walked into Jack’s Wine and Liquor next door to the Ralph’s for the first time in his life, no one inside said anything. The cashier wordlessly handed him his change and the bottle of pineapple vodka Cecil had grimly placed on the counter.

When Cecil got home carrying the brown paper bag and sat down on the floor in his living room without bothering to get a glass or turn on the light, the Faceless Old Woman didn’t say anything. She retreated to his closet to place individual moth eyes in all his socks.

Cecil hadn’t been drunk since he got back from Europe. When he had drunk before, it was social. He would have a drink at parties, with the bowling league after they won a game, with his college roommates, with Carlos over dinner.

He twisted the cap off the bottle and tilted it to his mouth. He winced only a little at the burn.

Cecil drank intently, like a man trying to return to a dream of life on a soap bubble, an illusion of shiny, beautiful joy that he had found once. His phone sat on the floor beside him, its screen turned upward. All around him, the darkness and silence settled like a feather into mud. Cecil took another pull from the bottle.

It wasn’t until Cecil couldn’t focus his eyes and he was beginning to sway, even sitting down, that a mirage rose from the carpet.

For a moment, Carlos seemed to swim in the air before him. Shimmering like a soap bubble, he grinned, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and reached for Cecil. For a moment, he took Cecil into his arms, pressed his lips against Cecil’s forehead, and Cecil could feel his heart beating through the lapels of his lab coat. For a moment,  _ there _ was the joy.

Then Cecil blinked and his half-raised arms fell. A single tear slid down his flushed cheek, feeling almost like a ghostly fingertip. Cecil tipped the bottle to his lips again, but couldn’t swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. 

He wrapped his arms around his knees and lowered his head, the half-empty vodka bottle dangling from his fingertips, the liquid inside dancing with the shaking of Cecil’s shoulders. 

Quiet, hollow sobs floated out into the darkness, hung for a moment, and then burst like soap bubbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thanks so much to everyone who has read this. I've really enjoyed writing and posting it (even if it hurts me deeply. Cecil is my bby and he breaks my heart). I have two bonus chapters I'll be posting, but one of them takes place chronologically after this chapter. So it's voting time! Would you rather see that bonus chapter posted next and then the story sequence pick up after that or would you rather continue in the normal chapter lineup and see that bonus chapter posted later? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> If you like this fic, kudos are fantastic. Comments are wonderful things that I read minimum 3892 times, grinning like an idiot the entire time. I love to chat, so feel free to email me at teatearsandbbc@gmail.com. Again, thanks for reading!


	5. You Need to Come Home: Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dana calls Carlos and tells him everything.

Carlos was in the middle of writing notes on his latest discoveries about how radio waves worked in this desert otherworld when his phone rang. It took him a minute to process the fact, and then he frowned down at his phone. It never rang. Not here. Turning it over, he saw only a picture of a human skeleton melting slowly into what appeared to be boiling oatmeal. Carlos shrugged and pushed the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Carlos, it’s Dana.”

“Dana, hi! How are you doing this? My phone never rings here. It’s one of the things I’ve been studying. I can call Cecil or anyone in Night Vale any time I want, but they can never call me back. Wow, this is so interesting! Hang on, let me triangula-”

“Carlos, you need to come home.” Dana’s voice was flat and uncharacteristically serious.

“Um, what?”

“You heard me. You need to come home.”

“I’m working on it, but there’s sort of the whole stuck-in-an-alternate-dimension thing I’ve got going on, and-”

“Let me rephrase this. Cecil needs you to come home.”

“Cecil? I know he isn’t very happy with me being gone this long, and honestly, I never planned to be. But there’s so much important work for me to do here, I can’t just leave it. Cecil knows I love him.”

“Do you? Well tell me, Carlos. Do you want to know what Cecil is doing these days?”

“What he’s doing? What are you talking about? Cecil is going to work at the radio station, like always. Probably going to league night on Tuesdays. Eating at Big Rico’s once a week. The usual. We talk every day.”

“No, Carlos. Here’s what Cecil has been doing.”

And then Dana began to unfold the dark secrets within her.

“The Friday after you left, one week into your being gone, do you know what day that was? That was your and Cecil’s one year anniversary. Do you want to know how I know that? Because I happened to walk by Gino’s that night and I saw Cecil. He was sitting at a table by himself. He hadn’t ordered, because he was pretty clearly expecting someone else to show up. There was a bouquet of flowers on the table, and I’ve lived in Night Vale my whole life and I can’t even put a name to most of those flowers. They were the most unusual flowers I’ve ever seen. The most scientifically interesting flowers, you might say. A whole bouquet of them, Carlos. And there was Cecil, sitting there staring out the window with this dead look on his face. He didn’t even see me standing there. I walked by on my way home three hours later. He was still there.”

Carlos felt his fingers go numb and knew his face had frozen, but Dana didn’t stop.

“A few weeks later, I got a call from Maureen at the station. She was completely panicked, said Cecil had just thrown a coffee pot at her. She said he was destroying everything. I got there as fast as I could and when I walked in, do you want to know what he was doing?”

Carlos wanted to say no, but he was locked in place.

“He was punching the studio door. You remember that door. Big metal thing. It was built in 1982 to reinforce the studio so it could double as a bomb shelter. It wasn’t a surprise that he was punching the door, though, because there was nothing else in the room left to hit. By the looks of it, he had destroyed the studio with a baseball bat. Mixer, table, hell, he had even taken out the walls. And he was screaming, Carlos, like I’ve never heard anyone scream before. I work with City Council on a daily basis and I can tell you, that scream made my blood run cold. He punched that door until I knew he must have broken his hands. I had to clean them up for him later, and I made him come sleep on my couch for the next week because I was honestly afraid he would hurt himself more.

“But that wasn’t the end of it, Carlos. He painted a picture of you, did you know that? I think he was trying to hang onto any threads he could and he painted this beautiful picture of you. He hung it on the station wall until something destroyed the wall and the painting along with it. The only time I’ve ever heard him more upset on the air was when he thought you’d died. He sounded as broken as I’ve ever heard him.”

Carlos would have begged her to stop, except he knew he was duty-bound to listen. Witnessing was all he had left at this point. He wanted to throw up as she continued.

“The day that painting was destroyed, Jack over at the liquor store called me. He said Cecil had come in and bought a bottle of vodka. Cecil has never been in that store before in his life. I kept an eye on him the next morning, and I can tell you, he looked wretched. He could barely move, he was so hungover, and how he managed to pass off that much alcohol poisoning and still remain professional on air is a mystery to me. He had to have drunk himself into insensibility the night before and he had probably spent the morning heaving up everything he had. I’m shocked he had a voice left at all.”

Dana paused, letting the horrific silence spiral across the phone connection.

“Now tell me, Carlos. How can you stand there and tell me you love him when you, by choosing to stay there, are doing this to him?”

Carlos didn’t have an answer for that and didn’t say anything. Dana knew what he meant.

“I will say this once more, Carlos. Come home. Now.”

The line clicked off, and Carlos sat there in his lab, phone still clutched to his ear and a horror swelling inside him, pressing out all other thoughts.

“Oh my god, Cecil,” he breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bonus interlude chapter. I felt it was important to show what Carlos finds out before next week's chapter (which will be on time; sorry about the delay this week, y'all. I had family in town and things got whack). Next week will be Acceptance, the week after that will be the resolution, and then I've got another bonus chapter I'll post after that. (I seem to be really bad at counting to 5.) 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me through this fic. It was heartbreaking to write, but it was also such a wonderful experience. If you like this fic, like this interlude, hate this interlude, or wish I would actually learn to count to the number of fingers I have on my hand, comment and let me know! Also feel free to email me at teatearsandbbc@gmail.com Also don't forget to check out the podfic under the same title.
> 
> Thanks for everything, y'all!


	6. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil finally accepts the truth.

The confession rose to Cecil’s lips against his will. He was curled on his side in his too-big bed, his phone cradled against his ear when it came.

“I need you to come home.” The words escaped him like a sigh, and for a second he half-wished he could take them back. But no, he thought. It’s true.

He and Carlos had been talking about their days, Cecil telling him about the worms that had invaded and Carlos talking excitedly about the newest constellations he had charted the night before. Carlos paused, and Cecil had intended to tell him how wonderful it was that he was discovering new, interesting things. But instead, he had found the confession falling from his mouth before he could bite it back.

A long, pained silence came across the line, and then Carlos sighed too.

“I know,” he said wearily. “I know you do, Ceec. And I want to be with you. I miss you so badly. Some days, what drives me to work so hard is the knowledge that if I don’t stay busy all the time, I’ll fall apart missing you.”

“Then come home,” Cecil said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He was so tired of crying. He had cried so much in the last year. “Come home to me, please. I’ve tried to be okay, Carlos, tried to give you the space you need to do your work. But, Carlos –” he paused, taking a deep breath and forcing the next words out. “I’m afraid that this is killing me.” His voice did shake a little, despite his best efforts.

After a long pause, Cecil heard Carlos take in a shuddering breath. “I know it is,” he said quietly. The certainty in Carlos’ tone made Cecil’s blood run suddenly cold. He had very carefully concealed from Carlos the extent of his grief and his pain. He didn’t want to guilt trip his scientist into abandoning the work he loved. But the way Carlos said that told Cecil he knew exactly what had happened.

“Dana called me,” Carlos said quietly. “She told me to come home and she told me – oh God, Cecil, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me things were so bad?” His voice was filled with pain, and briefly a series of images flashed through Cecil’s mind. Himself sitting alone at a table at Gino’s and staring numbly out the window, slamming his fists again and again into the station door, talking about his destroyed painting on the radio, dragging himself to work with a screaming hangover and bloodshot eyes and throwing up in the studio trash can on commercial breaks. Guilt twisted in his stomach.

“I didn’t want you to know,” he whispered. “I knew you would be upset.”

“Cecil, darling, of course I’m upset,” Carlos said, his voice cracking. “I had no idea – I would never have – I never wanted you to go through that. The thought of you – Cecil, it kills me. I love you so much, and I’ll do anything I can to fix this. Just tell me what you need.”

“I need you to come home,” Cecil whispered again, silent tears coursing down his cheeks. “Please.”

“I will,” Carlos promised, and this time there was no “As soon as I finish this study,” or “Once the housing development is finished,” or “I’ll look for the doors more tomorrow,” tacked onto the end. Cecil heard in Carlos’ voice the same resolve he had heard when Carlos had first announced that he intended to figure out just what was going on in Night Vale. And for the first time in months, as he clutched his phone to his ear and tried to stop the tears running onto his screen, Cecil felt hope blossom in his chest, just a little.

“Okay,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last one, guys! Thank you so much for sticking with me through this story. It has been very painful, but it's about to get a whole lot happier! 
> 
> If you like this story, kudos are a fantastic thing. Comments make my life so much brighter. Tell me what you love. Tell me what you don't. Tell me your favorite ice cream topping. Email me at teatearsandbbc@gmail.com. And thank you so much for reading, as always.


	7. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long, awful year comes to an end. Carlos comes home.

The universe narrowed as Cecil stood there, staring across the limo at Carlos. His Carlos, standing there. He wasn’t smiling. The look on his face was so much more than that. It was love and regret and under all of it, hope. It was small, but it was there all the same. And Cecil felt the tiny bloom of hope that had started in his chest weeks ago grow suddenly into a flower, bursting forth joyously. 

He was moving without thinking, his legs carrying him across the room to where Carlos stood, surrounded by a circle of faces that were only a blur to Cecil. And then he was wrapping his arms around Carlos and he was  _ real _ . He was there, solid and warm. This was no mirage or painting or figment Cecil’s imagination dug up. Carlos was  _ there _ , pressed to his chest, his hair soft and warm against Cecil’s hands, his shoulder a solid surface into which Cecil pressed his face. He could feel the dampness of his tears echoing back to his cheeks through the fabric of Carlos’ lab coat, and Carlos’ arms were wrapped around him too.

Cecil couldn’t help himself. He let go and sobbed like a child into Carlos’ shoulder, the last remaining shreds of his broken heart melting away and pouring out, washing him clean. Carlos just held him close, arms tight around him, fingers carding through his hair. He didn’t hush him or tell him it was okay. He simply hung onto Cecil as though he were the only thing in the world that mattered.

After a few minutes, Cecil’s sobs subsided and he lifted his tear-streaked face to look at Carlos. The sight of those warm brown eyes gazing back at him was so breathtaking he couldn’t even manage to be embarrassed about having just cried all over his boyfriend in front of the whole town. He just cupped Carlos’ cheeks in his hands and stared into those eyes like a man starving.

Carlos’ eyes brimmed suddenly with tears of his own and he leaned forward and kissed Cecil hard, fingers pressing into the back of his head. His other hand came down and he laced his fingers through Cecil’s own. When the scientist pulled away, he lifted Cecil’s knuckles and looked at them. 

Cecil dropped his eyes. Although the studio had long since been repaired, the correction statement had been issued, and all evidence of what had happened there had been neatly swept away, his knuckles still told the story. They were scarred in rough pink strokes over his bones. Carlos brought the hand to his lips and as he kissed those scars, Cecil felt a tear drop onto the back of his hand.

“I’m all right, Carlos,” he said quietly. “Really.” Carlos didn’t respond. He only lifted Cecil’s other hand and kissed it tenderly and then, cupping Cecil’s face in his own calloused palms, he kissed his lips. This time it was softer, gentler. It was a kiss full of apologies and promise.

“I love you,” Carlos breathed, pulling away only far enough to whisper the words against Cecil’s lips. “I love you and I swear, I’ll never go away again. Night Vale is my home. Always.” He punctuated each sentence with a kiss, and Cecil felt the bloom of hope inside him grow yet larger, pushing out against his ribcage and forcing a bubble of joyous laughter out of his mouth. He wrapped his arms around Carlos’ shoulders and hung onto the joy.

The last year had changed him, he knew. There were now scars on his hands and on his heart, and he knew Carlos had new scars too. He would discover them in time. He knew neither of them would ever forget that year and what it did to them. But really, that didn’t matter. The past couldn’t hurt them now. They had their future, and the hope in Cecil’s chest said it would be one full of joy and love and laughter. However it turned out, he would have Carlos with him and really, that was all that he needed in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I cannot thank you enough for sticking with me through this fic. I know it was a painful one, but I hope you enjoyed it. I do have a bonus chapter I'll post next week that I think will make you laugh and I'll try to finish updating the podfic soon too.
> 
> As always, I love hearing from you. Comment and tell me what you liked, what you hated, or what you thought should have gone differently. You can also email me at teatearsandbbc@gmail.com if you want to chat about this fic, any of my other fics, fic ideas, or the noises penguins make when they fall down.


	8. Dr. Kayali

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bonus fun chapter at the end because I couldn't not write this phone call.
> 
> Dr. Kayali calls Cecil back and he tells her "in a completely businesslike and journalistic tone" about his and Carlos's relationship.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Cecil Palmer of Night Vale Community Radio?”

“Yes, Dr. Kayali?”

“Yes, that is who I am.”

“Oh, Dr. Kayali, I’m so glad you called back! I tried to call you, but my phone just showed a photo of a beach during a storm and I couldn’t remember what area code that was to get in touch with you and I wanted to tell you I  _ do _ know a scientist named Carlos!”

“Oh, you do? That’s wonderful ne-”

“Yes, Carlos came to Night Vale almost two years ago and he called a town meeting and I went to it because I’m a reporter and I saw him. And he grinned and everything about him was perfect - did you ever notice when you worked with him how perfect his hair is? I was wondering if you possibly had a scientific explanation for that. And his teeth and his jaw - and anyway, I’m getting off topic. I saw him and I fell in love  _ instantly _ . But it was a year before I could show him my love. You see, he almost got killed by a miniature city living under the pin retrieval area of lane 5 of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex and after that he called me and -”

“Wait, he was almost killed?”

“Yes, by the miniature city. And then he called me and we sat on the hood of his car watching the lights over the Arby’s and it was another two weeks after that before we had our first date but when we did he kissed me and then he saved the town from a buzzing shadow that had consumed everything and -”

“A buzzing shadow?”

“- for our second date we just stayed home and watched a movie because we didn’t want to do Gino’s again and on our third date he took me back to his house and we made love three times, once on his couch and twice in his bed. And then -”

“Mr. Palmer -”

“- after a few months he tried to buy a condo even though everyone knows you shouldn’t ever,  _ ever _ touch a condo, but he did so I had to rescue him and then he asked me to move in with him and I said ‘Yes, that would be neat!’ And so we got an apartment-”

“Mr. Palmer -”

“- and we’d been living together for six months when he got trapped in a desert otherworld and he’s been there for almost two months and even though he said it would only be a week he says he’s still looking for a way back but that he thinks that desert is the most scientifically interesting place he’s ever been which I think is a bit insensitive, don’t you? But he calls me every day and we’ve stayed up all night talking six times and we’ve had sex four hundred and twenty-eight and a half times in seventeen different locations and we love each other and it’s hard, you know? Being separated in alternate dimensions and having to rely only on the meager communication technology can provide and I know it’s a modern miracle that we’re able to talk at all, but I just wish I could see him because I miss him so much and all that to say that Carlos is in town, he’s perfect, and he’s totally my boyfriend!”

“...Mr. Palmer, all I wanted to know was if you had seen him.”

“Oh, believe me, Dr. Kayali. I have  _ definitely _ seen him.”

“Right. Well I think I’ll need to come to Night Vale to investigate this more thoroughly. I’ll be in touch to coordinate a meeting time. I don’t think we need to discuss anything other than a meeting time. Ever again.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Palmer.”

“Goodbye!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, not going to lie, this is crack fic. I'm aware. I make no apologies for anything. I had so much fun writing this and thought it would be a nice little bit of levity at the end of a frankly pretty dark fic.
> 
> This will wrap up Step By Step, but I'm going to get the podcast up to date as soon as I can. I hope you've enjoyed this and I hope you'll check out some of my other work! Thank you so much for sticking with me through this fic. If you liked it, kudos are amazing. Comments light up my life. If you'd like to talk about this fic, any other fic, headcanons about WTNV, or the relative merits of tea served with or without milk, feel free to email me at teatearsandbbc@gmail.com

**Author's Note:**

> There will be fluff and joy at the end of this, I promise. If you need cheering up in the meantime, my Honey Almond Daydream is fluffier than Cecil's pink bunny slippers. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this fic. If you like it, kudos are excellent. Comments are better still. Tell me the good, the bad, the ugly, and the weird. I love talking about my fics, my ships, and WTNV in general, so if you'd like to chat about those things, or just about anything else, you can email me at teatearsandbbc@gmail.com.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Step by Step](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11829543) by [teatearsandbbc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teatearsandbbc/pseuds/teatearsandbbc)




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